


Tally Marks

by letitrainathousandflames



Series: Clone Trooper Files [1]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Flashbacks, Nightmares, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rex Needs a Hug, Trauma, all clone troopers needs hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 16:51:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12611052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letitrainathousandflames/pseuds/letitrainathousandflames
Summary: Some thoughts of the 501st. captain on what it means to be a clone trooper.





	Tally Marks

They cared about our bodies, that they did. After all, our bodies were their tools. Their commodities. Their battle fodders.

So we had medical training. Some of us excelled at it, like Kix. He could fix up a blaster wound in seconds, stabilize a seizure due to electroshock with ease, even heal the nasty wounds inflicted by the red lightsabers of our enemies. If any of us had some unusual condition, they’d ship us to Kamino, where those who engineered us would be able to take proper care of it. Yes, they would take great concern on our bodies. They’d need to patch up our injured brothers as quickly as possible so they could be sent back into the battlefield.

They would care for our sick bodies but they never, not even once, cared for our sick minds.

They never cared for the trooper I found surrounded by his fallen brothers, their amputated members and severed heads all around him, who had laughed manically all the way back to the camp before he pressed his blaster to his head and pulled the trigger. They never cared for the one who had a breakdown in the middle of a siege and was caught by enemy fire. They never offered guidance or medical attention for the sickness they couldn’t see.

So I watch my men – my brothers – hurting.

I watch Fives reading his datapads as if he could take Echo’s place to himself, make it feel like he’s still there with his upright zeal; or Wolffe running a finger on the scar over his eye and cursing himself under his breath. I see Kix walking out of the battlefield with his hands drenched in a brother’s blood and shaking his head in grief to his battalion, telling them he's failed to save him. I look at Hardcase laughing too hard, aggressively happy even if the joy doesn’t reach his eyes; or Cody wide awake  late at night reviewing strategies, trying to come up with something that will keep all of his men alive by the end of a battle. I see Tup writhing in his bed, suffering even in his sleep; and Dogma holding onto the rules and guides and codes for dear life because he’ll probably snap if there’s nothing there holding him together.

They hurt so much, so deep, and there’s nothing I can do.

And then Krell happens, and Umbara happens, and I can’t sleep at night thinking of Waxer’s face, of the single tear he cried before letting out his last breath. I’m used to see my brothers dying in front of me, but it haunts me still. The helplessness in his eyes. The fear. The dead look in a face that is also my own.

Fives have been spending too long in the shooting range ever since then. I imagine if he’s trying to replace Hardcase’s taste for shooting more than the absolutely necessary now. It's like he's trying to replace every single friend he loses, and sometimes I wonder if he still remembers who he is without all this. Every time Fives loses a brother he seems more broken, but he fights still. Resilience – that’s the mark of an arc trooper, right?

I remove my helmet, and I count the tally marks. Cody asked me once what did they represent, and apparently everyone thinks they’re a droid kill count. Good. They don’t need to know that each mark is a fallen tropper under my command. I run a thumb over the most recent one, Hardcase’s, and I think to myself what will get to me first, death or insanity. If a blaster shot hits me, the Republic will do their best to fix my body, but nothing will ever be done about the void gnawing at my mind.


End file.
